


Clay

by starprise_entership



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: M/M, Second person POV, Smut and Fluff, vague descriptions of anatomy so take that how you like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 12:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15510312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starprise_entership/pseuds/starprise_entership
Summary: Garak muses on his intimate night with Bashir.





	Clay

Under your hands, he is like wet clay, soft and malleable.

He arches into your touch as you tighten your grip on those tender, slender thighs, and when you apply the tip of your tongue to his body he tenses up, anticipating.

You dive in again, and are rewarded with a shiver.

So you quicken your pace, swirling the tip of your tongue around him, basking in his scent, and wanting more, so _much more_ of him. With a flick of your tongue he unravels, and you feel a trembling hand reach down and fingers slowly closing into a fist. Your name escapes his lips in an unrestrained cry, pleading, _begging_ for you to give him the sweet release he’s craving as you tease, slipping the tip of your index finger into his warm, slick opening–

And you withdraw yourself from him, a wicked smile on your face.

“Not quite yet, my dear.” You find yourself saying, almost breathless like he is. “I think it’s time you put in some effort of your own.”

* * *

You are clay that’s been baked in a kiln, hard yet brittle.

Your scaly exterior may come off as daunting, but he’s been around long enough to know every single chink in the armour, and he exploits them generously.

His warm hands leave blazing touches where they land on ridges and scales, almost magical, and certainly distracting. You find your footing again when he slides down onto you, snugly tucking your dagger away in his sheath. Coming as one system, he starts to move and you respond, making the effort to lift yourself off the sheets to meet him. Caught in this vigorous rhythm of movement, you offer to move things along, but he declines, wanting this to last longer for the two of you.

“You made me wait,” says he, mocking flirtatiously. “Now it’s your turn.”

It takes some coaxing, but he draws his name from your lips as whimpered cries of pleasure. Taking satisfaction at seeing you trembling before him, he puts on his smuggest expression. The two of you take this as the opportunity to push forward _and–_

From here on, all you remember are writhing bodies, clenched hands and half-formed curses on lips as he goes over the edge and brings you along with it. With all your strength spent, you spend another few moments buried in each other, wanting to capture the feeling of being enjoined to remember over a lifetime.

But in the here and now, you fall asleep to the sound of his snoring as your hand lazily moves over his hair. For once you’ve forgotten about everything else–everything is about the two of you now, and that’s all that matters.


End file.
